A House on a Street in France
by planet p
Summary: AU; based on a dream. Ethan/Brigitte


**A House on a Street in France** by planet p

**Disclaimer** I don't own _the Pretender_ or any of its characters.

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**Based on a dream I had.**

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He remembers the field that they'd walked through, a field of tall grass in variances of shades of yellow, in strange convoluted contrast to the cloudy, grey skies.

He had been to the building before, at least, he remembered the plaque on the walk up to the central building along the drive from the field. It was a large building, board, and though he remembered being there, he could not remember when or why, or how he'd gotten there.

The complex was by the sea. Taking lessons in the central building, the crash of waves could be heard as a wail from out of the past, or perhaps the future.

He remembers a woman of fair hair, and a man, too, of hair a lighter shade of fair, and quite lengthy. There are two small children, and one of the children is his, and one is the other man's; the woman is mother to both children. It is the girl, the first born, of whom he is father, then comes the boy of whom the other man is the father.

The plaque is mounted to a stone monument in more or less the shape of a rectangle, with its lengthiest side the vertical. The rock that the monument is made of is rough, and he can feel it move under his fingers as he passes his hand over the cold stone, but he knows that the rock _doesn't_ actually move, but that it is undulating and the movement of his hand is what makes it feel as though it is moving.

The sound of the ocean is clearer in the field, just as it is clearer by the monument.

The woman protects them, he and the other man, in the same way that she protects their children; he isn't jealous of the other man, and he doesn't think the other man is jealous of him, either.

The central building is old, how old he cannot say, but underneath is a large crawlspace, and carved into the wood there are words, the words of a poem of blooming flowers, flowers which can only bloom when two people are together.

It is here, under the old building, that the woman hides. She hides from a woman who is identical to her in every way, at least, every way which can be observed by taking in one's appearance, but who is not her, but is, in fact, a tutor under the employ of those who run the complex.

Their name is Edgemont, he knows; they are a rival of the Center.

He hears the crashing of the ocean as the waves converse, and then he wakes up.

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The woman he is married to is small and blonde, and shares her appearance with the woman of his dreams. She is named Brigitte, but often she is called Troope; she tells him that it is because she was born when her parents lived on a street called Troope Street. (It is her nickname.)

They live in France, in a modest sized house. They have two children: a boy and a girl. The girl is older by a year, and is named Nalingi. The boy is named Ebo. He is three.

There is no ocean, and no field of yellow grasses by their house. There is a road, and a cache of other houses.

Nalingi and Ebo play in a park across from the deli where his wife, Brigitte, often buys groceries. The park is squeezed in between a barber shop and a store selling confectionary.

The children are too young to be attracted by storefronts, but it is a location that always worries him when he thinks of the future. Before they are able to reach the park – he has parked his car in a bay beside the store next to the confectioners – they will have to pass the confectionary store, and the children will grow sulky and gloomy when they are told that they cannot have sweets from the shop, 'no.' (This is a hurdle, he supposes, that will have to be navigated when the time comes.)

He works in an office, though he is an engineer, and the park awakens a longing in him for open spaces and room to stretch his legs, but, instead, he is given boisterous children. He is glad, then, that he has their mother, too.

No matter what he may imagine in the depths of sleep, he knows that the reality is quite separate, and were adversity to rise up and prepare itself to strike home, he knows that he will always be strong as long as he is with Brigitte, and their children.

They are a family.

He hears the children's laughter like the waves of his dream, and he knows that he is home. He is not unhappy, then, as much as the children will grow bored with their games, or the equipment on which they might play, and rush to him, begging him to chase them, or to submit to be chased by their fast, little running feet and flinging arms, they are his world, and as long as his world is secure, he can feel secure and comfortable inside it.


End file.
